


Scars

by The_Cilantro_Family



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Friendship/Love, M/M, Mentioned suicide, Past Character Death, Past Suicide, Reincarnation, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 19:40:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7905112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Cilantro_Family/pseuds/The_Cilantro_Family
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year ago Lovino Vargas killed himself. </p>
<p>Now, by some strange turn of events, he's returned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars

**Author's Note:**

> This was something me and a friend did way back when. The idea is one of my favorite things so I adapted it. It has the potential, I think, to be a multi chapter fic but at the moment I think it's good enough to stand alone.
> 
> This is basically all angst, but sometimes we need some of that in our life.

Lovino woke up like someone had dumped a bucket of water over his head, gasping for air and choking. It was a struggle to push himself up into a sitting position, his arms shaking, his abs aching. When he finally got there, he hunched over. He couldn't slow his breathing down. His lungs were rapidly expanding and compressing, cool air filling him with life. Every inch of his skin was alternating individually between burning up and freezing. 

This lasted for a solid minute before his gasps became breaths and his skin cooled. He was in a cold sweat when he fell onto his back once again, finally taking in his surroundings now that his body didn't feel like it was fighting itself. Above him was a canopy of green leaves, broken occasionally to reveal a pierced sheet of night sky twinkling with distant stars. A gentle breeze that smelled of tall grass and wildflowers moved like a friendly ghost over him, soothing his panic. The crickets chirping all around him was the only sound. It was a calm spring night in a slumbering meadow. It was peaceful. 

But he didn't remember how he'd gotten here. 

He sat up again, rubbing at his eyes and glancing around him with relaxed scrutiny. There was nothing in sight but rolling hills and wide sky, the land dotted by clumps of trees in the valleys. Something buzzed in the pocket of his hoodie. Lovino pulled a phone out, and lit the screen up with a thumb. It was 12:42 A.M., Wednesday, April 25. He had four missed calls and thirteen unread messages. 

Using muscle memory he didn't remember building, he unlocked the phone and started scrolling through the messages. Eight from Antonio, five from his brother. They all seemed to say the same thing. "What's wrong?" Nothing's wrong. He was lost and confused, that's all. He almost texted one of them back before he decided to listen to the voicemails first instead. 

There were four of them, all from Antonio, and all sounding very much the same. The only difference was the subtle increasing in urgency heard in Antonio's voice. 

The fourth voicemail, however, was completely different. His phone took him straight from the third frantic voicemail to the fourth with a swipe of his finger, and the panic in Antonio’s voice was replaced with a hollow, haunting sort of melancholy. He was blabbering about something half in Spanish. It went on for the maximum amount of time before cutting him off in the middle of another apology.

It freaked Lovino out a little. 

Whatever he'd done, it'd apparently scared them pretty bad. He didn’t even know what Antonio was apologizing about, or why Feliciano was asking him where his car went because it definitely wasn’t here. 

But he was okay, so there was no need to feel anything negative. Considering the circumstances, Lovino felt oddly comfortable. 

His legs shuddering, Lovino managed to stand up, steadying himself against the truck of the nearby tree. A shiver raced down his spine at the same instant he tapped Antonio's name on his contact list and hit the little green button. It was 12:47 A.M., now. He raised the phone to his ear. 

It was late enough that Antonio was probably asleep, he knew, but for his own sake he hoped he picked up. Feliciano wouldn't do a very good job of helping him out any time of day. Antonio was far away, off at college, but at least he had clear thoughts most of times. It wouldn’t have been the first time he’d helped him out of a confusing situation.

The dial tone continued to ring in his ear, and Lovino began to feel the weight of the situation. He was in the middle of a field God knows where with nothing on him but the pajamas he was wearing and his phone on 34% battery. He was fucked, to be frank, if Antonio didn’t answer. He'd taken to tapping the tree impatiently and watching the grass wave in the wind as the ringing continued.  
______________________________________________________________________________

The darkness in the room felt endless, and overwhelming in a comforting king of way. The light revealed too much. It reminded him too much of what a mess he’d become in the past few months. Oddly, it only got harder as time passed. Time wasn’t healing shit, it was only giving him time to decay inside of his own mind until he finally took it out on his body.

Like usual, Antonio was having trouble sleeping. That had been the norm for the past year, and time had been moving with increasing fluidity. An hour turned into a day, and a day into a week, and before he was ready for it the first anniversary of Lovino’s death was upon him. Sometimes the darkness was too much. Sometimes everything was too much.

He spent tonight like he spent all of the nights before it laying on his bed, the moonlight offering mood lighting through the blinds, drowning in well-deserved guilt and so many blankets he felt like he was suffocating. 

Suddenly the wall Antonio had been staring at lit up, and it took until he heard the rhythmic vibrations next to him that he realized it was his cell phone.. He didn’t know who would be calling him at this hour. It was a miracle it was even charged. 

With a great amount of effort Antonio managed to flip himself over and pick up the phone as it was on its final few rings. The caller ID. Loviiii!!!!:D:D:D popped up, with all the proper emojis following, and it sent shards of ice through his veins.

That couldn't have been right. 

Maybe it was Feliciano, checking to see if the phone still worked? Or someone else had gotten the number? Lovino's phone had gone somewhere that Antonio didn't particularly care to know as part of the investigation. Surely someone wasn't just playing a cruel joke on the anniversary of his death. Someone with a really morbid sense of humor.

With wide eyes, and a shaky hand Antonio untangled himself from the sheets so he could slide the green phone across the screen and answer the call. It was some kind of fluke, he knew, but he couldn’t ignore it. Antonio raised the phone to his ear, and demanded shakily "Who is this?" 

"Uhm...Lovino. Don’t you have caller ID? Who else would it be?"

Antonio had both expected that answer, hoped for it, and known that it wouldn't be the answer he received. But it was. And it was enough to throw Antonio into silence and a thousand spinning thoughts. It sounded like him. It was his phone. Hell, even the inflection was so amazingly Lovino that Antonio felt his eyes being to water. It was the voice he’d been thinking of constantly for a year, the voice he’d prayed to hear just one more time. But now that he had, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. 

Lovino was dead. He'd seen him himself at the wake. He'd listened to most of the eulogy. He'd sat and cried for hours on end with Feliciano about it. It couldn't be him. The idea that someone was trying to impersonate him hit him with a good dose of lightning anger, and no rational thought behind how they could have done it. 

It was disrespectful. It was wrong. It was so messed up- "Cut it the fuck out." Antonio hardly cursed, and he hardly spoke with that short, lethal tone of voice, but neither surprised him at the moment. They only got worse as he continued speaking. "Who is this, really? What are you even playing at? Do you think this is funny? Do you know how fucked up this is?" Each syllable was more clipped and concise than Antonio himself had ever heard it. He sounded like he was about to murder whoever was on the other end of the phone. 

"What the hell are you talking about?" the voice asked after a brief pause, whoever-it-was sounded confused and a little indignant, and, if Antonio listened, a little self-conscious. It was so Lovino how could I have been anyone else. 

The uneasiness of the night had multiplied, and left a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach and a chilly silence. "It's Lovino. I don't know what's gotten into you, but I don't have time for that." He paused to take a breath before continuing. "Listen. I'm freezing my goddamn ass off and I don't know where I am. What should I do?" 

Antonio should have just hung up. He knew it. This was obviously a very well planned, and well executed joke. They'd even gone so far as to find someone that had the same voice as Lovino. This was fucked up. He was angry, livid, ashamed, but he wanted to believe it so badly. 

God, he wanted it to be Lovino more than he'd ever wanted anything. But this was real life. People didn't come back to life. This didn't happen. Antonio was smarter than that. So why did he want, so badly, to believe the voice on the other end of phone. It sounded like him, down to the accent, and the way he cursed, and the emphasis he put on his own name. Maybe he could indulge that little, stupid part of him that wanted to believe it. Just to hear what they had to say. Just until they said something that didn't fit.

It was just as hard to believe it as it was to disregard it completely. He just couldn't give into the hope because then it would just hurt so much more. However, his tone had softened to something more submissive, something more terrified. "What are you even talking about? What's gotten into- Vino- Whoever I- What?" He took a breath, shaky, and watery, and scared. "This is so stupid. You're dead. You're not calling me. Dios, I have to be hallucinating, I- I can't, you're not-" He cut himself off with something that sounded like the cry of a frustrated, wounded animal. 

He was silent after that. 

The irritation and indignancy in Lovino’s tone melted away, and was replaced with pure concern that Antonio had only heard a couple of times in his life. "I'm not-" He stopped abruptly. "Toni, you're scaring me," he continued. By now his teeth were chattering. The static of the wind picked up "What's wrong? You don't sound right. I'm not dead. I don't know what you're- I don't know what's going on. I just woke up in this field and it's freezing, okay? That's it. I'm not dead or anything. I'm just...confused. Why are you acting so weird? Please, just- help me. I wanna go home." It was so quiet, so timid, and it melted his broken heart. 

He felt completely isolated and alone, despite being on the phone with someone who said he was Lovino, who sounded like Lovino, who he desperately wanted to be Lovino. 

Antonio was confused. More than confused, even. He wanted to cry, or to scream, or to throw up, or to know who was even at the end of the line that was able to sound so much like Lovino he absolutely had to believe him. What a messed up joke. How tragic they had to be to think it was entertaining. How tragic it was that Antonio had to believe them. 

The phone-Lovino sounded so lost and scared and so Lovino that he couldn't do anything but listen to him and want desperately to help him. By this point he had shifted so he was sitting on the bed, his feet safely cocooned in the blankets, and his head cradled in one hand, his phone cradled in the other. This couldn't be happening. What was even happening? 

The room was warm, he was sweating, but he couldn't quit shaking. Could it be possible that it had all been some elongated, horribly vivid dream? Certainly not. Though he wanted to believe it the scars on his wrists told him otherwise. 

"Lovino?" God, that name felt so good on his lips again, this time instead of being said mournfully, it was hopeful, and scared, and downright pitiful. "I'm sorry, I just- I don't know what's going on. I don't-" He paused, took a breath, and sounded the slightest bit calmer when he spoke again, though he didn't sound any more convinced. Even if this was some fake-Lovino, and some elaborate prank, he needed help, and Antonio couldn't simply leave him be. Maybe this was some chance for fucked up redemption. "A field? You can’t- Ay Dios- Is there any town or landmark nearby or something? If you can find anything I can, I don't know, I can pick you up or something?" 

There was hardly a pause before he responded. "There's just...nothing." He sounded frustrated, almost like he was spitting out the words. There was a lot of shuffling like he was moving around to look for something. "There are no lights, or buildings. There's just...grass." There was a static kind of silence, and Lovino’s voice sounded tight again when he spoke. "Don't hang up. I'll find something." Urgent and breathless. There was an increased, muffled kind of rustling, like he’d taken off running and left Antonio with his thoughts.

Antonio threw his legs over the side of the bed, freeing them from their suffocating prison and bouncing them on the chilly hardwood floor instead. He didn't hang up, just as Lovino asked him to. Why? He wasn't sure. Nothing made sense right now, not what was going on, or why it was happening, or why Antonio was letting it happen. 

He was so desperate for Lovino that he was willing to believe whatever this was. He knew the phone had been put elsewhere when the sound of wind of breathing was replaced with static and rustling, and it seemed to go on forever. 

After a moment, impatient and upset, he stood up on shaky legs and walked himself to the kitchen. He drank a glass of water like he was dying of thirst. He put the phone back to his ear but was still met with static and rustling, so he set it carefully in between his shoulder and his ear, craning his neck and stretching his shoulder uncomfortably to accommodate it. 

This was ridiculous. What was he doing? He must have finally gone crazy. It was bound to happen eventually, he supposed. When Lovino finally shifted again to speak the noise made through the phone made Antonio drop his cup. It clattered noisily to the ground, spilling the last bit of water that was left in it, but he didn't pay it any mind. 

“There's a gas station," he panted as he chose the nearest tree to fall against. "It's the abandoned one on Lear. JBP, or something. I can't read the sign. You know the one. Outside of-" He was interrupted by a cough. "Outside of town. How the fuck did I get here?" The last bit was said at barely a whisper, mostly to himself. 

He soaked in what Lovino said desperately, trying to map it out in his head. He knew where that was. That wasn't more than fifteen minutes from his house, especially if he sped. Lovino had a point. How the fuck did he get out there, Antonio lived on the outskirts of town already. That was an amazing feat, considering he was six feet under for a year now. 

"Okay." This time, he sounded determined, but the persistent shaking in his voice had yet to go away. "Okay, I know which one you're talking about. I'll be there in like fifteen minutes. Don't move." 

"I won't. Bye."

Antonio hung up, and spun around to go to the garage, but instead of being met with the back of the kitchen, he was met with the sleepy face of his French roommate. 

“Toni? What are you doing?”

“Heading to the car.”

“And what, exactly are you planning on doing in the car at one in the morning?”

“Going to pick up Lovino.” He answered confidently. He knew Francis probably thought he’d gone crazy. Antonio thought he’s gone crazy too, but he could never leave Lovino alone like that. 

Francis' face was almost comical, and he was stunned into silence for a moment, but Antonio didn't stay to wait for Francis to stop him. He marched, determined, past him all the way to his car, grabbing his keys on the way out of the door. It wasn't until he was pulled out of the driveway and halfway down the street that the doubt came back. 

What was he doing? Going to pick up his dead best friend at a gas station outside of town, that's what. Francis must have thought he was going crazy. He probably was going crazy. That or he was walking directly into a murderer's trap or an absolutely horrible group of kids laughing about how well they got him. It was cold, and Antonio hadn't put on a shirt as he left, but he knew he wasn't shaking because of that. 

The thoughts that had been swirling around in his head for months suddenly became concrete, instead of the swirling feelings of guilt and grief.

How could one man be so stupid? 

A few months ago he’d hit his breaking point. In a morbid kind of irony Antonio had taken a razor to his wrist for the first time. It felt right, in an ironic kind of way. He didn’t do it to feel better, like Gilbert thought. He did it to feel something else. And what was better than the drag of a blade over the sensitive skin? It was Lovino’s preferred coping mechanism, apparently. In the same motion Antonio was punishing himself, and becoming that much closer to understanding Lovino a year after it didn’t matter anymore. 

The first night he cut, shortly after he had watched the two shallow lines bleed until they clotted, he’d called Francis, and Francis had finally convinced to go see a professional about dealing with his grief. Antonio had agreed somewhat reluctantly. Even Feliciano had more or less moved on by now, but moving on felt like betrayal. Antonio wasn’t allowed to search for happiness. The grief lingered in the bags under his eyes and the slump in his shoulders even when he put on airs at work.

He’d hardly talked to the prissy man across from the table. It’d taken a month for them to get in to see him, and it was going to cost him almost an entire paycheck, so he was irritable and taciturn, but still he was diagnosed with Circumstantial Depression by the end of the session.

They prescribed him medications. He didn't take them. 

They gave him other coping mechanisms. He didn't use them. 

Why should he have been allowed to be treated and helped, to be happy when he hadn't done a thing for Lovino? Lovino, who was like an angel of the Earth but could never seem to see it himself, and now had become an angel of heaven. Who stuck by Antonio's side through the death of his Abuelo, and the birth of his niece. Lovino, who was so important Antonio was sure he could never go on living without him, and now he was sitting here doing just that. 

He never really tried to tell him how he felt. He'd told Francis and Gilbert that he would. He'd told himself that he would. He was aware of his feelings for nearly the entirety of senior year, and he was given so many chances.

But he didn't. And maybe that was where he went wrong.

Instead he ran off to college, and he got involved in so many things, and kept himself so busy that he hardly had time for the person who he called his best friend, and the friendship he’d been so afraid to lose was damaged by his neglect. He hadn't even driven down after hearing the news. He'd even left halfway through the funeral because he was such a mess. Even after Lovino was already gone Antonio couldn’t do something as simple as being there.

And he hated himself for it. 

It was no wonder Lovino had done what he did, really. Antonio hadn't helped. Antonio hadn't even known. It physically hurt to try and go through today knowing that this had been the day that was too much for Lovino exactly year ago, when Antonio hadn't done anything but asked him what was wrong six hours too late. 

His siblings told him he needed to move on, but how could he?

As the time of death creeped up on him he kept himself curled in bed rather than running to the razor. Earlier that day he had halfheartedly promised Francis that he would try. He knew he’d end up doing it tonight anyways, he was only hoping that if he prolonged it Francis wouldn’t hide his razor blades again. But now the night had taken a completely different, possibly more insane turn.

He didn't feel like he was in control of his body anymore as he continued to drive, going twenty miles over the speed limit and passing all the red lights when there were no cars to crash into him. He felt like a lunatic, but as he pulled up to the gas station thirty miles from his apartment and saw Lovino standing next to the dry pumps he was quite sure he could die right then. Maybe he already had. 

Starlight and the round face of a nearly full moon overhead washed the Earth before him with an eerie, weak white light. It was enough to see by. 

The car veered towards the gas station at a breakneck speed that had Antonio once again questioning the stability and integrity of his decision-making skills right now. Antonio threw the car into park as he pulled up to the station, hit the brake, and pushed open the door. 

Antonio tore out of the car and just stared at him, looking like he was staring into the face of God and not just Lovino. He was awestruck, and so, so happy, but he couldn't seem to get himself to go any further. He stared at Lovino over the hood of his car. The Italian looked exactly as he remembered him. It was cruel how quickly his heart soared, and how fast it beat, when this just absolutely could not be happening. 

Lovino just stared back, an eyebrow raised, his lips frowning. He looked like he wanted to snap something to prompt the Spaniard into doing something. 

Something had to be wrong with him. He'd gone crazy, absolutely insane. Maybe he was dead after all, wasted away in that bed of his. 

But all of the thoughts rushing through his mind didn't stop him from finally finding his legs and running around the car. Tears were openly streaming down his face when he crashed into Lovino. God, he felt so alive, so solid, and he even smelled like he remembered. Nothing made sense, not the Italian he was embracing, and certainly not the blubbering flowing from his mouth, but he was happier than he could ever remember being. So what if this was a prank. So what if this was a cruel joke. This is what he'd needed for the past year, maybe even longer than that. Not therapy or medication. Just Lovino.

Lovino was frozen to his spot, his hands in his hoodie pocket, staring straight ahead over Antonio's bare shoulder, his frown losing ground with every warm second. 

Antonio saw Lovino’s jaw clench for a moment and let the tension run its course before he spoke, every word sounding far away to him. "What's wrong with you?" He asked. It didn't sound accusatory enough for his usual standards. There was a healthy dose of concern in there. A fine dusting of amusement and incredulity. Ridiculous confusion. A spidery touch of fear. His voice and all of its layers only made it that much harder to breathe. To have his best friend, the most beautiful, entertaining, perfect person on the planet, here was enough to chase away all of that negativity he had been feeling just a moment ago. 

Antonio had never felt more confused, and more elated in his entire life than he did in that moment. All of the pain from the past year, every tear that had been shed was being replaced, filled up instead with relief so great he almost didn't want an explanation. He cried harder because he was so damn happy and he knew no other way to express himself anymore. His cuts, both the old and the new, didn't sting like they usually did when he wiped salty tears away with his wrist. 

A smile, large and a little insane nearly ripped his face in two with how quickly it took over, and it was immediately followed by something that sounded like a laugh and a sob and a cheer all rolled into one. It didn't matter that Lovino didn't hug him back, because Lovino wouldn't hug him back. Not when Antonio was shirtless and Lovino was confused. It was so Lovino it hurt, and he couldn’t even deny it anymore. 

Eventually he was able to get himself under control enough to pull back, and his hands wasted no time touching everywhere on Lovino. His shoulder, his cheeks, his hair, his chest, his face, his arms, anywhere they could reach, and with every brush of his fingers he was only more convinced that this had to be Lovino because he looked so real, and felt so real, and was so real. 

It made absolutely no sense, but it gave Antonio hope that perhaps someone out there, God or Devil alike, was answering his late night howls. Maybe he'd disappear in the morning, maybe it was a dream or a hallucination, but it was all he needed tonight. 

"Nothing's wrong." He answered, shaking harder now, and he felt like an Earthquake was under him with all the effort it took to stay standing upright. "Oh God, nothing's wrong anymore. How? How did you- Where- Oh, Gracias a Dios, Lovino, you're here! You're alive!" He was sure he'd never looked as happy as he did in that moment, tears still shining in the moonlight, many of them still stuck in the watery green, and eyebrows almost painfully pinched upwards. He felt like he was about to pass out. He very well could have. 

Lovino looked so confused, and Antonio really couldn’t blame him. The permanently startled expression that had taken residence on his face gained a little speed, and quickly morphed into something almost mortified. Lovino was barely able to handle a hug itself, this was probably overwhelming him, but Antonio couldn’t stop when his cheeks and ears and neck turned a beautiful shade of red.

"Oh my God, Toni, calm down. What the fuck are you talking about? Of course I'm alive. Are you high or something?" Cute incredulity and concern was reeled quickly back towards the freaking out range. His eyes were stuck staring into Antonio's, as if he was trying to will him to stop crying for a second and take some deep breaths. 

Antonio should have heeded more to what Lovino was saying, he knew, but he just couldn't bring himself to act sheepish or ashamed about how downright emotional he was being when every syllable that came out of his mouth was perfectly accented with the voice he had thought he'd never hear again. Maybe he was high, but if he had unknowingly injected or snorted something, he was hereby hooked if it could bring him Lovino exactly as he remembered him. His eyes were what finally made him stand still. They were just as vibrant, just as golden as he'd remembered. Eyes like his were unique, practically a universe of their own, and he was ashamed that he had nearly forgotten what they looked like. 

His hand had been hovering just a few inches away from his cheek when it was snatched. Lovino’s hands shot out like bullets to grab the Spaniard's wrists, turning his arms over so the cuts and scars were revealed in their harrowing glory. Lovino’s head jerked, sight like a laser as it focused in on the rows of narrow lines. 

"Antonio." Each syllable was harsh, almost spat out like poison. All emotion was gone from his voice. All that remained was a baffled mix of white-hot anger and a deep sadness. "What the fuck is this? Stop lying to me." 

It scared him how quickly Lovino moved, and the absolute severity with which his name was said. He couldn't remember a single instant Lovino had ever said his name like that. His emotions were already all over the place, but Lovino ready to condemn him for such a thing was just downright hypocritical, and the tears pooling in his eyes quickly dried when scalding rage replaced relief. 

He got defensive. 

"Yeah, I cut." Indignantly he pulled his arms away and crossed them over his chest. The wind picked up, and for the first time that night Antonio realized he was cold. He should have worn a shirt. 

There were so many of them lined up like little toy soldiers. He had been cutting consistently for a long time now. He had been ashamed of his scars before, but never had he been so angry, so indignant at someone's natural response. "Because I was sad, and desperate, and you weren't there and it was the only thing that helped, alright? I wanted to hurt myself, so I did. But it's not like you have any room to talk. At least I've never actually tried to kill myself." He cut himself off as he debated about if he'd said the right thing. 

If Lovino had actually killed himself how was he even standing here? Antonio had seen the body. He had sat through most of the funeral. Lovino had killed himself. Of that he was sure. Antonio opened his mouth to speak again, but Lovino had already begun to fill the silence. 

Lovino opened his mouth almost immediately, sending back a retort that sounded like it'd been rehearsed. "What else was I supposed to do? Everything was wrong. If your life is so hard, then you obviously have to know how fucking tempting it is, every single day, to just..." He trailed off, his flashbang anger replaced with earth shattering confusion like he didn’t know what he saying in the first place.

“I didn’t kill myself.” He stated quietly. Doubt has started creeping into the hardened edges of his frown and furious eyes, and almost as much for his sake as for Lovino's Antonio reached for the smaller wrist, held it tightly, and pushed the sleeves of his hoodie up to expose his left arm. There were multiple, perfect little white scars going across his arm and then the big, committed, ugly scar going straight down the middle. It made Antonio cringe to look at it, like it pained him, and he quickly let go and quietly apologized. 

He wasn't looking at Lovino anymore. Based on his own knowledge of the scars the little ones should have disappeared by now, and the big one would have been recovering much slower than the small ones, and nothing made any sense. They didn’t look a year old. They looked like they were new. 

Lovino didn't react. He didn't move, he didn't breathe. Not even as Antonio let go and his arm fell back to his side like it weighed a ton. He stared blankly forward and off to the side, his gaze directed at the base of the gas pump but his eyes looking past it. 

Antonio didn't know what he was feeling anymore. He was feeling everything, and it was suffocating, and he didn't know if he wanted to scream at Lovino, or the sky, or himself, or if he even wanted to scream at all. Somehow it felt like everything was finally put back together, like he had found the missing piece of the puzzle that he had dropped under the couch just sitting in its designated place on the puzzle. But the picture was wrong. The piece was right. The piece was perfect. But it was completing a different picture, a picture a year later that was much darker, and not the least bit as fulfilling knowing he had thrown the other puzzle pieces away when he thought it would remain forever incomplete. But there it was. His perfect puzzle piece. 

Either this was a very elaborate joke, or God existed.

Lovino reached numbly into the pocket of his hoodie with his right hand, his left arm still hanging limp, and lit his phone up. 1:20 A.M., April 25, 2016. He blanched. The face Lovino made when it all seemed to make sense again broke Antonio's heart more than anything else. He looked lost, and full of regret, and so achingly upset. But he finally got a small bit of reasoning from Lovino a year later and everything he'd thought he wanted to say suddenly felt lugubrious and sticky and cheap. 

Lovino’s phone clattered to the cracked concrete, his now empty right hand moving to grab his left arm. He took a staggering step back, away from Antonio, but his legs couldn't hold. Dropping like a stone into a clumsy sitting position, he glared at the crack and the gas pump and shivered and struggled to keep the storm in his eyes and off of his cheeks. 

Antonio fell only a few seconds after Lovino, dirtying the knees of his long pajama pants as he knelt next to him. A tan hand reached out, then thought better and tangled in his own long greasy curls. If this was some kind of prank it was absolutely laughable how well it was working. His eyes had finally dried as the excessive emotion made way for logic to try and make sense of the situation. 

“Toni?” He asked, his voice quiet and hollow. “What happened this past year? Did I really… kill myself?”

Antonio merely nodded, reaching out and grabbing Lovino to try and steady them both emotionally and physically. He felt dizzy. 

“I don’t remember it,” He admitted, curling into himself. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” Antonio soothed, rubbing his hands up and down on Lovino’s arms because he didn’t know what else he could do. “That’s fine. You’re here now, right? So it’s okay.”

“But why?” Lovino had finally looked back up towards him, his eyes confused and desperate for something Antonio couldn’t name. He didn’t know why Lovino was back, or why he’d killed himself in the first place. 

“I don’t know.”

Neither of them spoke for a while after that. Even the crickets were doing a downright shitty job of filling the silence, so Antonio took it upon himself.

"So you killed yourself." Talking out loud had always helped him, but he couldn't help the way his throat tightened around the words. "And now you're back? It doesn't-" He had to stop. He had to think. He had to understand. But did he really? Did it matter what had caused it if his wishes and prayers had finally come true? He felt as though he might fall over from where he was sitting. He felt like he already had. Everything always seemed worse at night. 

Lovino’s head finally lolled away from the gas pump and back down to his wrist, where his knuckles were white and the skin ragged. "It doesn't make sense," Antonio admitted, but he sounded more determined. "But that doesn't matter, because you're back. It's like a second chance. It's like... Ay, come here, I need to hug you again."

All Lovino did was shake his head at Antonio, pressing his lips together and pulling his left sleeve down with an air of finality. He stayed with his shoulders slumping like Gravity had taken a specific liking to him and him alone. Antonio had seen it before, the last time he had seen it had been a year ago. The spiral just continued, further down and deeper into the numbness death left in its wake. Lovino’s voice was tiny and melancholic when he spoke. "I shouldn't have called." 

Antonio shook his head almost violently, waving his arms around in the space between them. "No, no, no, Vino, don’t do this. Not again. Not now." Desperate, Antonio placed both of his hands on top of one of Lovino’s, holding it as it could make a difference. His eyes were pleading, even if Lovino wouldn't look up to see them. He wanted to reassure him, to embrace him until he wasn't shaking anymore, to make him look up at Antonio until those golden gems didn't look so lost, to kiss him until he knew how much he meant to Antonio, but he couldn't. Antonio may have had time to lament over what he actually felt for his best friend in the past year, but Lovino didn't even seem to remember what happened before he did the deed. There was already so much Lovino had to deal with, he wasn't going to add any more. 

"How could you think that?” Antonio asked, “ Listen, if you hadn't have called do you know what I would have done tonight? I would have laid around, exhausted, but never really sleeping until I thought too much and I gave up and I cut. If I waited around and tried to resist it’d be even worse, and I’d end up tearing them open with my bare hands. I was scared and confused at first, yes- you were six feet underground last I knew- but then I was so, so happy. Don't you dare say you shouldn't have called me. What else would you have done? Ay Dios, Lovino!" He threw himself forward, shifting so he wasn't leaning so awkwardly, and he hugged him. 

His arms were wound so tightly around Lovino that he couldn't have squirmed out of it if he wanted to. And it made Antonio so incredibly happy when Lovino moved to return the hug. This was what he had been missing. This was why he couldn't move on. With a watery voice close enough that Lovino could hear Antonio whispered "I missed you so much." His voice was heavy, and it shattered on impact. 

Lovino’s arms wrapped around his waist somewhat hesitantly, but when they settled their grip was almost as tight as Antonio's. Antonio felt like he could fly. He was so very selfish, for craving affection like this and doing nothing to deserve it. 

Antonio didn't know how long they stayed like that, curled into one another, both in their PJs on the cold spring night outside of a lonely, abandoned gas station. Nothing made sense, but Antonio wasn't sure he wanted it to because what explanation did he need besides the fact that Lovino was with him again? A strong gust of wind blew by and chilled them both to their core, reminding Antonio that he was only wearing a very thin pair of pajama pants, and it was very, very cold outside. The car was still running somewhere behind them, burning gas and burning money that Antonio couldn't make himself care about. 

He finally loosened his grip and untangled himself, standing up and brushing off his legs before offering a hand to Lovino. "Come on, we should get out of the cold." His hand was a little shaky, and he was no longer sure how much of it was simply from nerves. His teeth chattered. He smiled. 

There were only a few seconds between when Antonio straightened up and when Lovino took the offered hand and stood as well, but those numbered instances were filled to the brim. Everything from familiar, powerful fondness for Lovino and the unshakable feeling that this was going to go south very quickly. He was still cold, not quite as lonely, not quite as confused, but a good three times as sleepy. 

He dropped the hand as soon as he was upright but stuck close as they headed for the car. "Stupid. It's just like you to forget to put a shirt on," he chastised weakly, his voice thick. 

And Antonio knew it might not be now, but everything was going to be just fine.


End file.
